


i will wash your hair at night (and dry it off with care)

by johnllauren



Series: and they were roommates (oh my god they were roommates) [4]
Category: Clone High
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Literal Showering Together, M/M, Tenderness, they're soft and in love your honor, this is seriously so tender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28890372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnllauren/pseuds/johnllauren
Summary: Ponce breaks the kiss to toe off his shoes, but Jack moves closer, kisses him again, and he laughs into the kiss.“Ourshoes,Jack,” he says.“Imissedyou,” Jack says back, tilting his head to kiss him.And, well, their shoes can wait, so Ponce just holds him tighter. Jack’s kiss is desperate, but not in a begging way, in anI always want to be kissing you, don’t ever stop,way, and Ponce loves it. He wants to bask in it forever, kiss Jack for hours or just stay here for the rest of his life. But Jack pulls away eventually, rests his head on Ponce’s shoulder, and closes his eyes.
Relationships: JFK/Ponce "Poncey" de León (Clone High)
Series: and they were roommates (oh my god they were roommates) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1990909
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	i will wash your hair at night (and dry it off with care)

**Author's Note:**

> title from i will by mitski  
> in terms of this au,,, this takes place sometime after the other two fics in this series, once the two of them have actually sorted out their shit and are in an established relationship.  
> content warning for mentions of alcohol!

Ponce is thinking about how much he doesn’t want to do dishes when the phone rings. 

“Cleo?”

He’s not surprised she’s calling - if anything, they’ve only gotten closer upon starting college together. The surprise is mostly because he hasn’t gotten a phone call at 1:30am on a Friday night - Saturday morning, technically - since the days Jack would throw high school parties. 

“Hey, Poncey,” she says. 

As a rule, Ponce isn’t paranoid, but something in his brain pulls all the stops when it comes to Jack. “Is everything okay? How’s Jack?”

Cleo laughs. “It’s cute how much you think about him.”

Ponce’s blush is hidden because nobody can see him. 

“I was calling about him, though.”

“Is he still with you?”

Cleo, naturally, had found a way to keep them steadily supplied with alcohol by the second week of their first semester. They’d gone from drinking in her room to frat parties and back to drinking in her room, though she’s started calling them wine nights in an effort to sound fancier. The wine nights had become an every Friday thing and a highlight of Jack’s weeks. Usually, Ponce would accompany him, but tonight Ponce had been fucked over by the audacity of a paper due at 11:59 on a Friday. 

And Ponce knows Jack can hold his own, especially when it comes to alcohol, but he cares about Jack so much that even the idea of him being in any way not okay makes Ponce feel sick. 

“He’s here. And he’s fine,” Cleo says, before Ponce can even ask, “but he’s, like, falling asleep. I don’t think he should go home by himself, so I offered that he could stay here, but he said-”

“Don’t worry, Cleo, I can come get him,” Ponce says. 

“But your paper?”

“Handed in at 11:56. I can be there in 10-” 

“Are you sure?”

“Positive, Cleo. It’s not like I’m not _in love_ with him-”

She makes a gagging noise. “Alright, alright, I’ll see you soon.” 

Having finally been granted the excuse he needed to procrastinate on the dishes front, Ponce pulls his shoes on and does a quick keys-wallet-phone check before he leaves. The walk to Cleo’s dorm isn’t far, but it’s long enough to be annoying due to the way the dorm buildings are spread across campus. Still, there’s something about seeing his friends on a Friday night, seeing Jack with his cheeks red from intoxication and the carefree smile on his face he only has on the weekend that makes Ponce feel so stupidly excited. 

Cleo had asked nicely, then asked, then asked in a way that was decidedly not nice at all, and ended up with a room all to herself. She’d wasted no time commandeering the extra space, buying a leopard print couch that would’ve looked absolutely heinous if it was owned by anyone but Cleo and a vanity that’s now used half for makeup and half as a makeshift bar. 

Ponce knocks on the door and Cleo answers with a half-drunk bottle of pink moscato in her hand. 

“That was quick, Poncey,” she says, sounding drunker than she had on the phone. 

“I was just, y’know, making sure Jack is alright, and I felt bad that I couldn’t be here earlier -”

She cuts him off by handing him a cup, and he watches as she pours wine into it with a surprisingly steady hand. He pulls a face when he drinks it despite his best efforts, as the taste of it still hasn’t grown on him, but wine is wine and he isn’t complaining. “Jack’s on the couch,” Cleo says, stepping away from the doorway. 

Joan is sitting on the floor next to another bottle of pink moscato, idly swiping through Tinder. She looks up when Ponce enters, giving him a smile and a wave, which he returns. 

Jack is slumped over the arm of the couch, his hair in front of his face. “Hey, baby,” Ponce says, walking over to him, and it’s only when he gets to be right in front of Jack that he realizes he’s asleep. 

“He’s sleeping?” Ponce whispers to Cleo, “Did he really drink that much?”

Cleo shakes her head. “He hardly drank anything, I think he’s just tired.” 

“Should I let him sleep before I wake him up?” Ponce asks. He knows Jack wants to go home, but waking him up when he’s so tired seems like a dick move. 

Joan taps the ground next to her. “Sit for a second,” she says, and Ponce does. 

“How’s the paper?” Cleo asks. 

“It’s… handed in.”

They laugh, and when Ponce finishes his cup, albeit with some difficulty, Cleo hands him the bottle. He declines, mostly because he doesn’t want to keep drinking that shit, and Cleo makes a face at him before downing the rest of it.

Joan reaches for the other bottle with a sigh. “I don’t want to go on another Tinder date with someone we went to high school with.”

“Joan, we went to high school with _everyone_ here.” 

She looks at him like he’s stupid, which, well, fair.

“It’s funnier because he’s not even drunk, he’s just stupid,” Cleo says.

“Fuck you guys.” 

Jack still hasn’t stirred after the clock strikes 2, and Ponce is getting progressively more tired. “D’you mind if I get him up and head home?” Ponce asks, and Cleo shakes her head. 

Ponce feels bad waking Jack up, partly because he wants Jack to have everything good in the world and also because he looks so peaceful. He doesn’t stir when Ponce calls his name, so Ponce sits next to him, places a gentle hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Hey, baby.” 

Jack makes a noncommittal, tired noise, shifting in on himself, and Ponce laughs. “Jackie-boy, can you get up for a second?” 

He cracks an eye open, and only then does he realize that they aren’t in their own room. Jack looks at Ponce, one eye open, confused.

Ponce smiles. “We’re in Cleo’s room. You fell asleep on the couch.” 

“Fuck,” Jack mutters, rubbing his eyes. His voice is soft from sleep and Ponce’s heart melts. Ponce shifts on the couch so he’s facing Jack, and Jack slides into his arms almost immediately, resting his head on Ponce’s shoulder. “‘M sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Jack, you’re tired,” Ponce says, moving his arms to wrap around Jack’s back. 

“Can we go home?” Jack asks, his lips brushing against Ponce’s neck. 

Ponce nods. “That’s why I’m here, baby.”

“Fuck. Sorry.” Jack says, separating from him and straightening out his clothes. 

“Good morning, Jack!” Cleo says, the smile clear in her voice. 

“G’morning,” his voice is still soft and scratchy with sleep. He rubs his eyes again. “I think I wanna go home now, sorry Cleo.” 

She takes another sip before saying, “I know, I figured. It’s okay, Jack, you need some rest.” 

None of them want to _bring up_ Jack’s week being both long and horrible, so they don’t ask him how he’s doing or look at him in a way that might suggest pity but they do spare him from the ridicule they might’ve thrown his way had he fallen asleep at a normal party. Instead, Cleo is nice where she would’ve made fun of him, and Ponce is solid and gentle and caring. Ponce runs his hands through Jack’s hair and Jack leans into the touch. 

“You ready to go home?” Ponce asks. 

Jack nods. “I just gotta find my fuckin’ shoes, uh… what the fuck’s on my hands?” 

Ponce smiles softly at how tired he is. “Makeup, probably, babe.” Jack’s rubbed most of his mascara off, giving himself raccoon eyes.

“Fuck.” He stands clumsily, almost falling over as he does so. Ponce stands too, moving forward to wrap his arm around Jack’s back in an attempt to steady him. “I gotta get this off, Ponce, I don’t wanna go home late wearing… this.” 

And it hurts that Jack has to be careful like this, that he likes wearing makeup when he’s with his friends but he’s far too afraid for his own safety to wear it anywhere outside, even when they’re just going home. Ponce can’t do anything about it, and he knows that, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t _hurt_. Jack’s still working on not being ashamed of the way he wants to be now. He’s gotten better, especially after him and Ponce started dating officially, but the fear is still there.

So Cleo goes with them to the bathroom closest to her dorm, which is thankfully private, with makeup wipes in one hand and a half-full cup in the other. “Can you sit down for me, Jack?” She asks, and he sits on the lid of the toilet seat, looking up at her with lidded eyes. “I’m gonna be quick, I promise,” she says, and Ponce moves closer to Jack and takes his hand. 

Cleo tilts Jack’s head toward the light and starts wiping underneath his eyes. “Can you close them for me so I can get all this off?”

“Cleo, you’re gonna put me to sleep.” 

“It’s gonna take two minutes.” 

He listens to her, and Ponce squeezes his hand. Jack complains a few times, because he is delicate and Cleo is not, but for the most part it’s painless, and then Ponce is helping him find his shoes and they’re on their way. 

Jack is unsteady on his feet, so Ponce laces his arm around Jack’s waist and Jack leans into it. “Sorry,” he says again, and Ponce shakes his head. 

“No, baby, don’t worry,” Ponce says. He moves to kiss Jack’s head, but they’re in public and Jack is still iffy about those kinds of things, so he doesn’t. 

The walk back to their dorm is quiet because Jack is too tired to talk. His shoes scuff against the ground a few times, but Ponce is there to hold him steady. Jack’s eyes are pinching shut, and Ponce wants to pick him up or kiss him, and Jack must notice, because he leans his head on Ponce’s shoulder. And then they’re home, and Ponce is unlocking the door and letting him in and Jack kisses him as soon as he shuts the door. 

“Hi, Jackie-boy,” Ponce says, taking his jacket off and Jack in his arms, kissing him again. 

Jack smiles at him. “Ponce,” he says, wrapping his arms around Ponce’s waist, “I’m so fucking tired.”

“I know, baby,” and Ponce is smiling. “D’you wanna get ready for bed?” 

Jack nods. 

Ponce has known Jack for a while now. They were friends, and then best friends, and then whatever the fuck their friends with benefits arrangement entailed, and now boyfriends, so Ponce knows his tells. Knows the way he holds tension in his shoulders and stands up straighter when he’s stressed. And it hurts Ponce to see him like this, so worn down from another week he’s hated, so he kisses Jack on the forehead. Jack looks at him and smiles, moving forward to kiss Ponce again.

Ponce breaks the kiss to toe off his shoes, but Jack moves closer, kisses him again, and he laughs into the kiss. 

“Our _shoes,_ Jack,” he says. 

“I _missed_ you,” Jack says back, tilting his head to kiss him.

And, well, their shoes can wait, so Ponce just holds him tighter. Jack’s kiss is desperate, but not in a begging way, in an _I always want to be kissing you, don’t ever stop,_ way, and Ponce loves it. He wants to bask in it forever, kiss Jack for hours or just stay here for the rest of his life. But Jack pulls away eventually, rests his head on Ponce’s shoulder, and closes his eyes. 

Ponce presses a kiss to the side of Jack’s face. “C’mon, baby, you need to relax,” he says, carding his fingers through Jack’s hair. 

Jack shakes his head ever-so-slightly, hair brushing against Ponce’s neck. “I’m too tired for sex, Ponce,” he says.

Ponce kisses his face again. “I know, baby, I meant a shower or something.”

“A shower?” Jack hums against his neck. “‘M too fuckin’ tired to wash my hair, Ponce.”

“I could do it for you,” Ponce offers before he can fucking censor himself.

“What?” Jack asks, and Ponce pauses.

“I offered to wash your hair,” he says, “but if that’s weird or too much or -”

Jack cuts him off. “I would, uh, like that.”

“Oh. Okay,” Ponce says, caught off guard.

Jack lets him go, and steps back to take off his shoes. Ponce stands there dumbstruck for a beat before taking off his own, trying unsuccessfully to tear his gaze away from Jack. Thankfully, Jack doesn’t catch the way Ponce is staring at him like he puts the stars in the fucking sky, and he’s able to turn around before Jack can look at him. Jack moves to the doorway, looking at Ponce nervously.

“Are you alright, Jackie-boy?” Ponce asks, starting to second-guess everything he’s ever done, “Look, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, if you don’t want me to overstep anything, that’s fine with me, I-”

Jack shakes his head. “No, no, it’s okay,” he says. “I just don’t want you to - y’know, uh, make things weird.” 

“No, no, don’t worry, Jack. ‘S just supposed to be relaxing. Calming.” He says, moving to cup Jack’s head in his hands. 

Jack turns his head to kiss Ponce’s palm, looking him in the eyes with a level of trust that feels absolutely insane and Ponce is absolutely taken by it, by the way he has Jack Kennedy literally in the palm of his hands and Jack loves him.

Ponce strokes Jack’s cheek with his thumb, gradually withdrawing his hand, and Jack pouts. “Kiss me,” he says. 

And who is Ponce to deny his request? 

They kiss until Jack pulls away ever-so-slightly to say “I’m so fuckin’ tired,” to which Ponce points him in the direction of the bathroom. He shuts the door behind them, and then Jack is looking at him with all that trust again and Ponce swears he’s going to die at the hands of this boy. 

“Okay,” Ponce says, trying to hide how nervous he is, “do you wanna, y’know, get undressed?”

Jack smirks. “If you wanna get me in the shower so bad, why don’t you do it for me?”

Ponce wants to say _All I did was offer,_ or _you want this too,_ or _fuck off,_ but he also has no objections to undressing Jack, so he takes the hem of Jack’s sweater in his hands, brushing his fingers along Jack’s bare waist, making him shiver, and then Ponce pulls the sweater over his head. He presses a kiss to Jack’s exposed collarbone, and Jack draws in a breath. “I thought this wasn’t gonna be sex.” 

“Not sex, just appreciating my boyfriend,” Ponce says, lips still brushing against Jack’s collarbone. _Boyfriend._

Jack nods. “Carry on.” 

So Ponce undoes his fly, helps him step out of his pants, and does a horrible job of pretending not to stare. Jack shakes his head and takes Ponce’s jaw in his hand, angling him for a kiss. Ponce has no complaints. 

“Could you turn the water on?” Ponce asks when Jack breaks away. 

“So you get a show and I don’t?” 

Ponce is confused, but then Jack is moving his hands under Ponce’s shirt to rest on his sides and he understands. He takes off his shirt himself because Jack’s hands are busy exploring Ponce’s skin as if they haven’t done the same thing plenty of times before, but every one of Jack’s touches is something sacred, something to be worshipped in itself. As soon as his shirt is off, Jack is running his hands down Ponce’s exposed sides and the way it still feels like Jack is leaving sparks everywhere he touches is almost ridiculous. Ponce gasps and Jack smiles at him, and then Jack’s taking his pants off as well. Jack stands back up, unaffected except for that smile of his, and Ponce steps back to turn the water on. 

“Is the water warm enough?” Ponce asks, and Jack moves to stick his hand under it. He seems satisfied because he steps in the shower, and Ponce follows him close behind.

There are a few moments of awkward shuffling as they both realize that this shower was not made for two people. Jack stands under the water and Ponce presses up against him in an attempt to draw at least some warmth from the water. Jack laughs at him. 

“Shh, I could just as easily shove you out of the way,” Ponce says. 

“But you aren’t,” Jack sing-songs. Ponce rolls his eyes and kisses him. 

The kiss ends up working out for him better than expected, as the water lands on his hair, washing the product out of it for him. Jack pouts into the kiss when he realizes this, but Ponce just pulls him closer, resting a hand on the back of Jack’s neck, and Jack melts into it. 

When they pull away, it’s out of the desire to not get waterboarded, but they’re smiling. Ponce runs a hand through his hair to make sure all the product has been rinsed out of it. Without the product, it adheres to the normal rules of gravity, and Jack looks at it in something like amazement. 

“I’ve never seen your hair without product in it,” Jack says, “Can I touch it?”

Ponce smiles. “Of course you can,” he says, stepping closer. 

And Jack runs his hand through Ponce’s hair cautiously, like it’s going to break under his touch. But it doesn’t, and Jack keeps combing through Ponce’s hair with some sort of reverence, and it makes Ponce’s heart jump. “I like it,” Jack says, not removing his hand.

“I don’t have to put stuff in it every day,” Ponce says immediately, even though he barely remembers what it looks like without at least something to keep it out of his face. 

Jack’s face lights up. “That’d be nice,” he says, moving his hand to hold Ponce’s face in his palm, looking into his eyes for far longer than is strictly necessary. And if it makes Ponce forget how to be a person for a couple seconds, Jack doesn’t bring it up. 

“C’mon, let’s get you in bed,” Ponce says softly, “can I wash your hair?” 

Jack seems taken aback, but he nods. 

Of course Jack uses some ridiculously fancy shampoo, and Ponce has half the mind to make fun of him for it, but Jack is leaning against him like he’s about to keel over. Instead, Ponce tells Jack to turn around so he doesn’t get shampoo in his eyes. Jack pouts, but listens, and then Ponce is reaching up to wash his hair. 

It’s slightly strange, what with their height difference, but if Ponce can ignore the angle of his arms and the shitty dorm shower they’re in, it’s nice. Jack relaxes under his touch, leaning his head back so Ponce can massage his scalp gently, working any product that hasn’t already been washed away out of his hair. He’s combing his fingers through it when Jack murmurs, “you’re gonna put me to sleep standing up, Poncey,” and Ponce laughs and directs him back under the water. 

Jack smiles at him through hooded eyes and Ponce smiles back, giving his hand a squeeze as he reaches for the soap. “Is this alright?”

“Of course.” Jack says. 

Still, something about it seems more intimate than before. And it feels stupid, what with the amount of times Ponce has seen Jack naked, the amount of times they’ve had sex, but this is different. This is just the two of them, together, showering after a long day. It’s gentler: more contact, undressing each other, washing each other, skin-to-skin touches that promise not sex but _I want to see all of you and still hold you close_. 

He starts with Jack’s shoulders, gentle as he covers Jack’s skin with soap. His muscles are taught, tense even now that he’s supposed to be relaxing. Ponce feels the familiar pull of anxiety on his chest. He knows Jack is beyond capable of taking care of himself, but something about Jack being upset hurts him, too. 

Jack’s majoring in government, something he doesn’t really give a shit about, as part of his quest to live up to the expectations of the real JFK. And Ponce can’t claim to know what that’s like - to be the clone of a president who’s both fairly recently deceased and a major part of the American cultural zeitgeist - but he’s _seen_ the way it hurts Jack. The way Jack has always thrown himself to the wolves, flirting with as many girls as possible, talking up the sex he has. Jack’s gotten much better, of course, realizing he likes men, that it’s okay to like men, that he loves Ponce. It doesn’t change the way he’s getting a degree in a subject he doesn’t like and is decidedly bad at. 

It’s an argument that simply isn’t worth having, one that they’ve had plenty of times before. If Jack is going to change his major, he’s going to decide that on his own. The most Ponce can do is hold him after a long day and massage the stress out of his shoulders. So he does, working slowly but determined, his thumbs rubbing circles on Jack’s back. 

Jack sighs in relief as the tension leaves him, and Ponce smiles.

Ponce pays careful attention as he washes Jack with the soap, all feather-light touches, and Jack responds with gentle noises above him. “I love you,” Jack says, and Ponce thinks his heart could burst. 

“I love you, too,” and Ponce kisses him again, this time away from the water, and Jack holds him, takes the soap out of Ponce’s hands to wash Ponce’s back as they’re kissing, and Ponce doesn’t want anything else. 

Ponce maneuvers them into a position where they can both rinse themselves off while still being ostensibly attached at the hip until Jack laughs and separates from him in favor of actually washing the rest of the soap off of him. 

Jack hands him a towel once he’s turned the water off. “Thanks, Poncey,” he says, his voice low and gruff from fatigue. 

“‘Course,” Ponce says, like it’s natural. “Nothing to thank me for.” And it’s true. He’d do anything for Jack. Jack doesn’t even have to ask. 

Jack clings to him once they’re back in their room as well, only separating when he has to bend down and get pajama pants from his drawer, but he holds Ponce’s hand as he does so. Ponce moves to separate and Jack makes a noise of protest. “Jack, I need pajamas, too,” Ponce says, rubbing his thumb across Jack’s knuckles. 

They haven’t moved their shit together yet: they sleep on Jack’s bed, pressed insanely close together, because neither of them want to go through the process of moving Ponce’s bed closer to form one huge bed. This means that Ponce’s clothes are still on the other side of the room, a whole few feet away from Jack, and he shakes his head. 

“I can give you something,” Jack says, and the both of them know full well that Ponce would never say no to wearing Jack’s clothes. 

Even Ponce’s eyes are pinching shut, now, as he gets dressed in one of Jack’s t-shirts and boxers. Jack is in bed waiting for him in a pair of sweatpants that Ponce thinks are probably his, but he can’t bring himself to care. Jack opens his arms like he does every night, and Ponce falls into them happily, kissing him before getting properly comfortable, resting his head on Jack’s chest. 

“Goodnight, Poncey,” Jack says from above him. 

“Goodnight, Jack.” He isn’t sure which one of them falls asleep first.

**Author's Note:**

> i feel community in this jfk/ponce ao3 tag hmu on tumblr at lafayettesass


End file.
